


i could've lost myself in rough blue waters in your eyes

by velvetpresence



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, there's a happy ending I swear!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetpresence/pseuds/velvetpresence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry meets Louis on Day One, because for Harry, time only really begins with Louis. It takes four days to fall in love and it takes four days for Louis to leave and Harry just keeps counting until Louis comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! So this is my first time EVER publishing a fic I've written! I'd love love LOVE any feedback at all!! 
> 
> Obbbbviously all fiction!
> 
> The title is from Joshua Radin's song 'Winter'. PS--he's an insanely talented artist and I listen to his albums while writing, so if you want to get in my mindset, go check him out :)
> 
> xxxx

On Day Nine, Harry wakes up alone, cold and exhausted because he can’t sleep alone now. He did it for twenty-three fucking years and after just five days of sharing a bed with someone, the mattress seems too big and uninviting for just him. Well, not just someone. Louis.

Harry slowly forces himself up, rubbing his eyes and grasping for thoughts other than 'Louis' and 'Where’s Louis?' Of course, he fails, as he has for the past four mornings. Christ, has it really only been four days?

He pads down to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light or open the curtains, allowing himself to be engulfed in a comfortable gloominess because if he’s going to be depressed, why not embody the stereotypes? He subconsciously puts water on to boil, still half asleep, and opens the cupboard to pull out a teabag. He opens the door and is confronted with a half-empty box of Yorkshire tea bags. He stares at it for what seems to be a century, his brain suddenly flooded with images of blue, blue, blue eyes and morning hair and Louis, before taking every single box of tea from the cupboard. He calmly dumps the tea in the garbage then rips the boxes to shreds, throwing each piece into the can with a different muttered curse word. Harry turns the kettle off and goes upstairs, back into bed, again wondering how it’s only been four days.

He stays in bed for all of Day Nine, only getting up to use the bathroom, get water, and to eat a few Cheerios. He doesn't sleep, of course. He lays there, wondering how he got so fucking unlucky as to fall in love. No, he corrects himself, it wasn't the falling in love that was bad. It was the pure, unmotivated abandonment that was bad. 

He weighs himself that night. Three pounds. He’s lost three pounds in four days. Harry stares at the number, uncaringly and apathetically because what does it matter how much he weighs? What does it matter how little he eats or drinks or moves? Louis had told him he was perfect. He was perfect, but not perfect enough, because Louis left anyway.

On Day Ten, Harry manages to make himself coffee. He doesn’t even like coffee but he doesn’t have a choice because he can’t drink tea anymore. And Harry doesn’t think he’s ever hated Louis more because not only did Louis take everything Harry had, every ounce of emotional capability, every bit of love and admiration and wonder, every piece of what made Harry Harry, but he took away his preferred breakfast beverage. How fucking screwed up is that? That Harry could love someone so much that when he left, Harry can’t even drink a fucking cup of tea without feeling like someone is pouring cruel memories into his bones, lust and hatred and love and pain invading his body and his organs, without feeling like his blood is made out of Louis and concrete and lava and ice. Because Louis is a contradiction and Louis is love and Louis is hate and Harry hates him so fucking much because he’s drinking burning, bitter, black coffee instead of tea. 

Harry puts his mug in the sink, piling it on top of the mountain of dirty dishes that he has no intention of washing any time soon, and crumples on the floor and cries because, no, he doesn’t hate Louis. He loves Louis and it hurts so much because he thought Louis was a sunrise. He thought Louis was new beginnings and laughter and late nights and early mornings and exhaustion, but not bad exhaustion, beautiful exhaustion that promised happy sleep and sweet dreams. And in a way, Louis did promise sweet dreams because for the past five nights, Harry has, without fail, dreamt in blue of a boy with a beautiful, haunting laugh and a smile so wondrous that Harry is tempted to call the dreams nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the prologue. I know it's really short, I'm hoping the entire work will end up being 20k or more but who knows because I've never done this before?? There's lots of angst and fluff to come but it WILL end happily because I'm not that heartless.
> 
> I'll post Chapter One soon, hopefully in a week or two! Thank you to anyone and everyone who reads this, even if it's just one person, you, lucky reader, mean the world to me.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at ahedgehogandafrog !!


	2. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it all begins! Harry and Louis meet and Harry's drunk and Louis' Louis, so it's always a fun time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this only took me a week, which is cool. I hope you like it because I had tons of fun writing it! Thank you all, you rock.

Harry feels warm. And light. And heavy. And bubbly. Maybe I’m just drunk, he thinks as he reaches to give the bartender a ten-pound note but misses his hand. Yep. Definitely drunk.

Harry grabs the two beers and pushes his way through the crowd to the back of the club. He maneuvers his way through the drunk, dancing idiots, trying to avoid getting pushed in every direction and failing miserably. It’s the kind of crowded where Harry can’t tell if he’s being grinded on purposefully or just because half the London population seems to have shown up at the same club on the same night. Either way, Harry is flattered. By the time he’s made it through the mobs of the sweaty, overly inebriated people very likely to make mistakes tonight, he’s drunk half his beer and spilled half of Niall’s, partially on himself and partially on people too pissed to notice. 

“Took ya long enough, mate!” Niall exclaims as Harry hands him his beer and takes a seat at the table, then eyes the beer Harry just handed him. “Either the bartender seriously screwed up and only gave me half a beer or you spilled the other half,” Niall says, glancing at Harry’s soaked purple button-down shirt. Only buttoned up halfway, of course.

“Yeah, it was the bartender, Niall. Go punch him, give him some of that Irish vivacity and strength you’re always bragging about,” Harry giggles. Niall just stares.

“Geez, mate, you’re really pissed. I’m cutting you off after this one. Don’t want a repeat of New Years last year, do we?” Niall says. Harry bursts into a fit of laughter, remembering the party that he and Niall had attended in their last year at University of Manchester. Harry had been stumbling home, using Niall as a crutch, rambling on about kittens or rainbows or bananas before leaning over and throwing up on Niall’s shoes. And, of course, Niall had made Harry clean his shoes the next morning.

“I’m not that drunk, Niall,” Harry declares loudly as he sloshes his beer some more and slightly slurs his words. “Besides, you hated those shoes. And so did I. They were gross and old and orange and I think the vomit actually improved their look.”

“Yeah, ok, whatever Haz. See anyone you like while you were up there?” Niall nods towards the packed bar. Harry turns to look, scanning the crowd.

“Not sure, Nialler. Pick one for me. And not one like last time, that hairy guy wouldn’t leave me alone for hours. Someone fit.” Harry shudders at the memory of the time Niall had tried to hook him up with a man from the bar who turned out to have the genetics of a werewolf. Never again.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying to get you laid,” Niall says defensively. Harry glares at him.

“Fine. Well, there’s a short lad who’s been making eyes at you for the past hour,” Niall comments. “Looks like he might combust if you don’t make a move soon.” He gestures for Harry to look at the man standing on the opposite side of the bar. Harry turns to look, and. Oh.

Harry locks eyes with the man and, suddenly, he’s all Harry sees. It feels like a movie cliché, except that instead of a guy seeing a girl in a fancy ballroom, Harry sees this guy over a grimy club full of people basically having public sex. His brain is flooded and he can’t think as this stranger’s eyes bore into him. Everything about him makes Harry breathless. He has artfully teased brown hair, the kind of effortless look that Harry knows he must’ve spent at least thirty minutes on, makes his jawline look sharp enough to break Harry’s heart. His plain black t-shirt and unfairly tight black jeans makes Harry think that this man is sin in human form and—oh god—are those tattoos? And yes, Harry might be drunk off his ass, but he’s almost positive that this is the most beautiful man he’s seen since he started looking up pictures of male models when he was fifteen.

The man gives Harry a smug smile and it’s then, Harry thinks, that his entire world truly shatters.

“‘M going to talk to him,” Harry announces as he attempts to stand up, a task he only completes on his third try.

“Haz, are you sure? You’re, like, really drunk,” Niall argues, but Harry’s already stumbling to the bar.

Harry can barely feel the floor beneath his feet and he’s not sure if it’s because his whole body is entranced by this man or because he’s had about three mojitos too many tonight. Either way, he’s being pulled towards this guy and has no intention of stopping it. He’s trying to come up with a smooth chat-up line as he walks, desperate to make a good first impression. It’s then, of course, that he trips just as he approaches the man and he’s sent flying face-first into his chest. Graceful is Harry’s middle name. 

“Oops,” Harry manages once he quite reluctantly sets himself free from the stranger’s chest (are those abs he feels?)

“Hi,” the man laughs, smirking as Harry staggers upright and his hand lingers on his stomach for just a second too long. “You alright there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great,” Harry forces out without slurring a single word, which Harry thinks deserves a trophy. An engraved, gold trophy. Harry would have to talk to Niall about that.

“I’m Louis,” the man giggles, actually giggles, still amused at Harry’s elegant entrance. “And you are?”

“Harry. I’m Harry,” he manages, despite the fact that he’s just noticed Louis’ eyes and, fuck. They’re blue. Like, really blue. Like the kind of blue that you see in a sunrise when the earth is on the precipice of night and day, when it can’t quite decide if it wants to be light or dark. The kind of blue that artists dream of being able to create but never quite can. The kind of blue that Harry decides he wants to swim in.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Louis smirks, noticing his state. “I’d offer to buy you a drink but you seem well off in that area.”

Harry can already tell he’ll be downright mortified by this in the morning, but for now, since he’s twenty-three and at a club with a gorgeous Louis in London in July, he just cackles and coyly replies, “So what do you offer instead?”

“Wanna dance?” Louis offers without skipping a beat and yes, fuck yes, Harry really wants to dance. 

So Harry grabs Louis’ hand and leads him towards the crowd of dancing idiots because, hey, sometimes it’s fun to be a dancing idiot. He pushes through people to the center and hopes that everyone sees him, that everyone sees him with Louis because Louis is fit and he wants everyone else to be as impressed with him as he is with himself. As soon as they’re comfortably suffocated by people on every side of them, he spins Louis around so he’s pressed up against Harry’s chest. Harry places his hands on Louis’ hips and grinds to the music, letting himself get sweaty and hot and tired and excited. Louis loses himself against Harry, moving with the beat of the music, hips swinging with every pound of the bass. And Harry loses himself against Louis, moving with his rhythm, wrapping his arms around his stomach and Harry decides that this is the best he’s ever fit with anyone.

They dance like that for a while and Harry occasionally leans down to nibble at Louis’ neck and Louis will tangle his hand in Harry’s curls and look up at him, blue eyes meeting green. That’d make yellow, Harry thinks. Yellow like the sun. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Harry asks impulsively, speaking into Louis’ ear while he squeezes his hips.

“Sure, Curly, where to?” Louis responds, and the nickname is enough to make Harry blush.

“My place?” Harry suggests and Louis is endeared at the fact that he makes it a question. Not pushy, this one.

“Sounds brilliant,” Louis smiles.

Harry grabs Louis hand and guides them towards the front of the club, away from the heat and crowds. He remembers to send a text to Niall before leaving.

Bringing Louis home…nice pick N !! Maybe crash with Liam ?? Thanks, you rock .xxx

Harry puts his phone away without waiting for a response and opens the door, holding it for Louis.

“Wow, chivalry isn’t dead, after all,” Louis jokes, walking out into the warm, London air.

“Of course not, Louis. Where would the world be without a knight in shining armor?” Harry responds, following him out and, fine, admiring the view.

“Excuse me, Harold,” Louis gasps, faking offense. “Were you just staring at my arse?”

“It’s Harry,” Harry insists. “And no, in fact, I wasn’t.” He totally was.

“You totally were. Don’t worry Harold, nothing to be embarrassed about. It is a great arse. I’ve been told I should have it insured.”

“How would that even work?” Harry asks, laughing.

“No idea, but, hey, better safe than sorry!” Louis smacks his behind and smirks at Harry.

“You’re weird,” Harry finally says, after about three seconds too long of staring at Louis fondly.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “It’s put of my charm, though, innit? Can’t resist me!”

Harry has no response but to shake his head and turn it to the ground, trying to hide the fond look that’s come over his face. He can tell by the smug look on Louis’ face when he looks up that it didn’t work.

“So, where are we heading?” Louis asks.

“Just about five minutes to me and Niall’s flat,” Harry responds.

“Niall?”

“My flatmate. And best friend, usually, when he’s not trying to put whipped cream in my hair or set me up with hairy strangers. He was with me tonight. Actually, he was the one who pointed you out to me,” Harry replies.

“Ah, well, I’ll have to tell Niall thanks. Thought you’d never notice me!” Louis says in fake exasperation. 

Harry just smiles.

“You don’t say much, Harold,” Louis points out.

“I’m a man of very few words, Lewis,” Harry responds. “That, and I’m really fuckin’ pissed and I don’t want to say anything too stupid.” At that, Louis smiles.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Louis prods, grinning widely.

“Not gonna work,” Harry says fondly.

“C’mon Harry, you’re about to take me home for the night and you can’t even tell me what you’re thinking?” Louis begs. He even throws in puppy dog eyes and, fuck. Louis is really, very cute.

“Nope,” Harry fights, grinning widely now, too, because he likes frustrating Louis.

“Fine, have it your way, then. We’ll just walk the rest of the way in silence,” Louis says with a tone of apathy that might just be the fakest Harry’s ever heard.

The silence lasts about eight seconds.

“If you tell me what you’re thinking, I’ll give you a pound,” Louis offers, throwing Harry the puppy dog eyes again.

“A whole pound?” Harry says in the most sarcastic tone he can muster. “Wow, Louis, you sure know how to persuade a man.”

“I just want to know what you’re thinking,” Louis says and he looks so genuinely dejected that Harry actually gives in.

“Fine. I’m thinking that you’re the fittest man I’ve ever seen and that I owe Niall my life for pointing you out to me tonight. I’m thinking that your eyes are the bluest of anyone’s eyes, ever, and they make me think of summer and I love summer. I’m thinking that you’re a really good dancer and those jeans are sinful. And I’m thinking that you’re also a little blurry and I’d really like some water right about now.” Harry takes a deep breathe and mentally chastises himself, because, really, what the fuck was that?

But Louis just stops. And looks at Harry. Then kisses Harry. And it’s simple, really. It shouldn’t be any different than any kiss Harry’s ever gotten before. It shouldn’t be, but it is. It’s a short kiss, devoid of promises or pressure, and it’s quite possibly the best kiss Harry’s ever gotten. And when Louis pulls away, Harry thinks he could go his whole life getting kisses like those and he’d be a very, very happy man.

“Thanks for sharing, Curly,” Louis says quietly, then keeps walking, keeping his head down, but Harry can see his smile. So Harry walks with his head down to hide his own smile, but he knows Louis can see it, too. What a match.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. It’s a comfortable silence, not the kind that presses for conversation or attention. It’s still and peaceful and makes Harry think that he and Louis are the only people on earth. That, Harry thinks, is a kind of world he’d love to live in.

They make it to Harry and Niall’s flat within a few minutes. Harry immediately beelines for a glass of water. Then another. Then another. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” Harry manages between gulps.

“Yeah, I’d love some water if there’s any left by the time you’re done,” Louis says, laughing at Harry. Harry pouts, so Louis pinches his cheek. They’re truly, awfully disgusting, Harry decides.

Harry gets up to give Louis a glass of water and then mid-walk remembers why exactly he brought Louis home. So, he turns around, walks to Louis, and pulls him into a rough kiss.

“Woah,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s lips, staggering backwards with the force of it. He ends up against a wall with Harry’s hands on his lower back and Louis’ hands tangled in his curls. Harry licks against Louis’ lips, asking for permission before Louis opens his mouth, inviting Harry in. Harry deepens the kiss, licking into Louis’ mouth and moving his hands down to cup his arse.

“God, Lou, you’re so fucking fit,” Harry murmurs against Louis jaw as he kisses down to his neck.

“So you’ve said,” Louis breathes out, losing control of his breath as Harry nips at his skin. Harry pulls them backwards, aiming to move them to his bedroom, and somehow ends up on his back on the ground.

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” Louis crouches down next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, ‘s okay, I fall all the time. Clumsy, you know,” Harry says, slightly slurring his words again, trying to pull Louis on top of him.

“Harry, I think you’re a bit too drunk for this,” Louis says reluctantly, grabbing Harry’s hand to help him up.

“I’m not drunk!” Harry protests, but he stumbles as he stands up.

“Yeah, ok, sure Harry,” Louis rolls his eyes. “I may have only met you tonight but I’m almost positive this isn’t what you’re like sober.”

“I’m fine, Louis, can you please just keep kissing me?” Harry begs.

“We really can’t keep doing this when you’re so drunk, Harry, I wouldn’t feel right. Let’s just get you to bed, alright?” 

Harry protests but eventually ends up letting Louis wrap his arms around his waist and help him to his room. It feels so domestic, Harry notices, and wonders if it’s weird that his almost-one-night-stand is carrying him to bed and helping him undress with absolutely no intention of sleeping with him. Probably. But Harry’s really fucking drunk, so he lets it happen.

“Lou?” Harry begins as Louis is taking off Harry’s shoes and socks.

“Yeah, Harry?”

“Can you stay the night?”

“Harry, I told you,” Louis says, partially exasperated, but mostly fond, Harry notes with pride. “I’m not sleeping with you when you’re like this.”

“No, like, can you just stay? Like, sleep with me? Not like, sleep with me, but like, sleep with me?” Harry mumbles.

“Honestly, Harry, what the fuck are you going on about?” Louis asks, again with so much fond Harry wants to cry.

“Can’t you just sleep in my bed with me? I’ll make you breakfast in the morning as a thank you. Please, Lou, please?” Harry begs, pouting and trying out Louis’ puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” Louis agrees after looking at Harry’s face. “But if you make a move, I’m bolting.”

“Yay,” Harry smiles, letting Louis take off his trousers and unbutton his shirt. Louis only grins at Harry, shaking his head.

“This is, by far, the strangest one night stand I’ve ever had,” Louis says.

“Yeah, well, usually when I pick a guy up, he has the decency to have sex with me before falling asleep in my bed,” Harry says back. “This one’s your fault. I guess chivalry truly is dead.”

Louis discards his own clothes, rolling his eyes at Harry’s ramblings, leaving on pants and grabbing one of Harry’s t-shirts out of a drawer, and climbs into bed beside him.

“Lou, aren’t you going to cuddle me?” Harry whines.

“Harry, I can’t spoon you, you’re ginormous,” Louis reasons.

“But I’m the little spoon, Louis! I’m the little spoon!” Harry explains.

“Okay, okay, keep it down, I’ll spoon you. Jesus Christ,” Louis complains, but he wraps his arms around Harry regardless.

“For the record,” Harry mumbles after a few minutes of silence. “This is the best one-night-stand I’ve ever had.”

“You’d better just make sure there’s bacon in the morning,” Louis whispers before pressing a kiss into the back of Harry’s neck. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Louis,” Harry whispers back, and it all feels so delicate that Harry doesn’t shift once in Louis’ arms, afraid to break it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!! It's v different from the prologue but I had a lot of fun writing it because it turns out that Louis and Harry are super fun characters to write about. Who woulda thought?
> 
> Anywho, I'll update in a week! Thank you to everyone who reads this, it truly means the world to me.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at ahedgehogandafrog !!
> 
> xxxxx


End file.
